


First Act

by WhitethornWolf



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 03:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18402578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/WhitethornWolf
Summary: Julian and the apprentice take a little moment backstage. NSFW.





	First Act

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt request from tumblr. Follow me @lesbianarcana for good stuff.
> 
> Actual genderneutral MC (no pronouns, body mentions etc), but I wrote this with my m!apprentice Ashur in mind.

“‘I’ll make a thespian out of you yet.’ Do you remember saying that?”

A raucous cacophony drowns out Julian’s reply as the curtain closes over the stage.

He beams at me, face flushed under his mask. It’s a replica of the one he wore to the Masquerade, as is mine.

“And so I did!” Julian adds. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and waves back at the obscured audience as we walk off stage. “Listen to that sound. Nothing like an appreciative audience, eh?”

“Funny. That’s  _ exactly  _ what you said last night.”

He barks with laughter, and suddenly my attention is drawn to a flash of tarnished gold over his shoulder. A mirror hanging on the far wall of the backstage area, its frame spotted with rust. My memory returns to a day many months ago: my teeth nipping at Julian’s neck and ear; his hands pinning me gently to the wall.

I wander past him and approach the mirror, pushing up my mask. Had it been mere months since we had been here, searching for a teahouse that no longer existed? It seems like a lifetime ago.

Julian comes up behind me and winds his long arms around my shoulders.

“Still just as lovely as ever,” he murmurs against my hair, and then presses a kiss to my neck. “Remember when we first found this place? Our first date, and I spent it trying to pull myself away from you. If only I hadn’t--”

He stops abruptly as I turn in his arms, capture his wrists and press him into the mirror.

“None of that,” I whisper into his ear, and he shivers. “I’m here now, and I didn’t go anywhere. If I could go back, I would have proven that to you.”

“Oh?” I can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Why don’t you prove it to me now?”

I take his earlobe in between my teeth and bite down gently. The sound he makes is delicious: torn between a gasp and a groan. He’s already taut with anticipation.

“I could…” I let my words hang in the air. “Or I could make you wait.”

One hand slides from his wrist, between our bodies, and traces the shape of him through his trousers. “I could make you so sensitive -- so hard -- that you’re...aching..to be touched.”

“Darling, please,” Julian hisses; he’s leaning into me, chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re so cruel when you tease.”

“You love it, Ilya.”

We could be caught at any minute with actors and stagehands still packing up the set, so I’m quick. I know Julian about as well as you can know another person. I know how he likes to be touched; bitten; kissed.

I unbutton his coat and loosen his cravat. Julian buries his face in my shoulder, murmuring encouragements. His sash and trousers are untied with one hand; I’ve done this now more times than I can count.

I drop to my knees, taking his trousers down to mid-thighs, and he’s ready for me, like I knew he would be. Anticipation is half the turn-on for Julian; it’s one of the many things I love about him.

“We should have done this at the real Masquerade,” I murmur, as I kiss the inside of his thigh.

Julian laughs breathlessly. His thighs shift around me, the coarse hairs standing on end as I kiss higher and higher.

“To be fair, we were in the midst of saving the worrrlahhh--”

I take him into my mouth, and his knees buckle. I can hear the mirror frame knock against the wall as his hands scrabble for purchase.

“M-- _hah--ahh!_ ”

My tongue caresses the head of his cock, softly, and the shudder runs through his entire body. I’ll never be tired of even the most incoherent sounds he makes. They’re like a chorus to my ears; better than any music I could hear.

I hold his thighs firmly to keep him in place while my throat and lips and tongue work him in a steady rhythm. If this took place at the shop I would have him wait, easing him down to prolong the moment, perhaps bound and blindfolded if he allowed it. But this isn’t the time or place, so I take him deeper, and his gasps and quivers turn into erratic moans, bitten off and muffled by the back of his hand--then his other winds into my hair and softly tugs. A warning that he’s close.

I pat his thigh reassuringly, tighten my throat around his cock--and he comes hard, cursing into his hand, and I feel the tension seep from his muscles as he slides down the wall.

I redress him, pushing away the trembling hands that try to help, and we hold each other as his breathing begins to slow.

“I love you,” I murmur against his cheek. “Now let’s get out of these costumes and go home.”

 


End file.
